


The One and Only Autobot Jazz

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Autobot Jazz Week, Autobot Jazz Week 2020, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: From Twitter:Jazz Week, where we celebrate the smoothest, coolest cat ever produced by Hasbro! These are my fills for the week, combining the Jazz prompts with Halloween prompts for the extra spoop factor :p
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 80
Kudos: 77





	1. Day 1: Pop Music / A Repetitive Scary Noise Without Any Apparent Source

There was a strange noise echoing throughout the building. Jazz walked up and down the halls, searching in vain for the source. It was eerie, even a little scary; no matter where he went, it never got louder or quieter, nor did it resolve into a single identifiable sound. Being alone with it was starting to make Jazz nervous.

It had a good beat though.

Jazz regulated his steps so his feet tapped in time with the repetitive sound. It wasn’t really a musical noise, but the pitch lent itself to a minor scale. He started humming along with it, improvising a simple tune before adding a rough percussion line with his hands against different parts of his frame. It wasn’t as unsettling as part of an ensemble, and Jazz’s energy quickly rose.

A mislaid mop handle became an impromptu mic stand as he began singing in earnest, belting out a looping melody to the empty building.  _ “Dancin’ along without a care, Spinnin’ my wheels and goin’ nowhere, Head up, Hands down, That’s the way to throw down, Don’t mind me just breeze on by unless you want to sing along ♪♫” _

The sourceless sound ascended the scale, grinding its way up a perfect minor third. Jazz smiled through the shivers it sent skittering across his plating, continuing his song as he danced his way back to the door.  _ “Drivin’ along just me and you, Cruisin’ the streets with nothin’ to do, Beams high, Bass low, That’s the only way to go, Baby stick with me tonight but only if you sing my song ♪♫♪” _

Whatever it was continued to do just that, singing along in single tones that changed with each measure. Jazz would have said it was staying in tune with him if it weren’t for the strange, slightly off-putting sound quality that wasn’t really in tune with anything. He didn’t let it throw him off though. He liked a pop duet as much as the next mech, but it was a lot less creepy when it was another mech singing with him!

Still…

_ “Lights off, Curtains down, Sorry I can’t stick around, You’ve been great I cannot lie I hope you keep on keepin’ on ♫♪”  _ He reached the exit. Jazz brought the song to its conclusion. 

The sound stopped. 

“Thanks for the accompaniment,” he said to the still darkness, then slipped outside. 

He could hear the building singing his melody as he drove away.


	2. Day 2: Martial Arts / A Doll or Stuffed Animal that is Alive

Being attacked by sentry drones Jazz understood. The whole point of a drone was for it to attack things, and he had taken out more of them than he could count without batting an optic. Likewise, battling automated grapplers in the dojo didn’t bother him. It was a matter of expectations, of going into a situation prepared for a fight. 

No one prepared for a fight with the anatomical model in the medbay in the middle of the night.

Jazz didn’t know what had attacked him at first. Razor-sharp reflexes had him tucking and rolling from the slab he’d been recharging on to a crouch on the floor before he was even fully awake, his ninja training once again coming to his rescue in unexpected places. The ports along his arms stung from his dodge roughly pulling the monitor leads free, leaving the machines beeping and wailing in alarm at the loss of data, but worse than the noise was the sight of a mass of exposed struts, wires and components blinking menacingly at him in the darkness.

Under the circumstances, Jazz felt that loudly exclaiming “What the actual  _ frag?!”  _ was completely warranted. 

The model-come-to-life lurched toward him, swinging an only partially-articulated arm up over its bisected helm before bringing it and the crowbar in its skeletal hand down where Jazz’s shoulder had just been. Injured as he was, Jazz was a master of Metallikato! He wasn’t going to be taken out in the middle of the night by this monstrosity!

In a bout unlike any he’d ever fought in a dojo, Jazz leapt around the various medical equipment, trying to keep his opponent from damaging any of it. That was easier said than done, since it didn’t seem to notice anything but him until it ran into it. And, of course, Jazz didn’t want to destroy the model either! He leaned heavily on Diffusion techniques, searching for a way to subdue it safely.

Turned out, short extension cords with wrenches taped to the ends made for passable emergency nunchaku and longer extension cords made for pretty good restraints. 

Jazz had just finished securing the model when the lights came on. He looked up to see Ratchet striding into the room, frowning as he turned off the screaming monitors. “And just what do you think you’re doing up?”

“What does it look like? I’m fighting for my life here!”

“Against wha— Primus, Jazz! What have you done to Spinestein?” Before Jazz could warn him not to, Ratchet pulled him off the model and began untangling it. “Next time I should bolt you down so you can’t start sleep fighting with your nightmares. You could have been seriously hurt, not to mention the damage to my equipment!”

“Hey, your equipment that was trying to damage… me…” Jazz glared at the suspiciously still model. It hadn’t so much as twitched. “It was trying to kill me, Ratchet, I swear.”

“Right. Pull the other one,” Ratchet said, carrying the once again lifeless model over to its corner. “Now. Back on the berth.”

“But Ratchet!”

“No ‘but Ratchet’, you ninja mence.” Ratchet dragged him back to the slab and hooked him back up to the monitors. “You’re supposed to be resting, and that’s what I expect you to do!”

“Yes, Ratchet.” 

Jazz watched the medic’s back as he walked away, frowning when the lights turned off. 

Anatomical models didn’t come to life and try to kill people, but Jazz was a little afraid of what he’d find when he looked back over his shoulder.


	3. Day 3: Dreaming / Waking Up Sealed in a Wall, Coffin, or Electric Chair

Jazz had always had vivid dreams. It was only natural; he was a mech with ideas, ambitions, and the motivation to shake things up. Combine that with his natural charm and charisma, and he was practically a force of nature. 

It had been those vivid dreams of a better life that had propelled him upward as a youngster. He’d set out on the road to fame and fortune, optics fixed on a vision of grandeur as elaborate as it was detailed. Not everything he’d imagined wound up being possible, but he’d accomplished a damn sight more than anyone had ever thought he would.

Then the rumblings of unrest had begun, and Jazz’s dreams had grown bigger than himself. He’d envisioned equality instead of excess, seeking out mechs who shared his new dream and allying himself with their cause. Meeting Optimus Prime had been a blessing, and he’d joined the Autobots with the certainty that there was nowhere else he could imagine being, nothing else he would rather be doing.

Now… 

Jazz imagined himself in lots of other places. Every night he dreamed himself somewhere new, somewhere exciting or safe as the mood struck. He could go from surfing the Rust Sea in the midst of a storm to a quiet evening in with friends with a thought, his dreamscape sculpting itself to his will more completely than he’d ever been able to structure his life to his dreams. The only drawback was these dreams didn’t last. Whenever he woke they fell away, leaving him with the cold reality of rebar and concrete pressing in on him from all sides. 

Sometimes he imagined he heard someone outside, searching for him in the walls. He hoped that dream was a waking one. At some point  — some point in the near future — he would slip beyond the dreams of recharge into the unchanging nothing of stasis. It would have frightened him more if he hadn’t already decided what he wanted his final dream to be: his sparkmate pulling him from the construction site and carrying him tenderly out into the sun where they could be warm together.


	4. Day 4: Assassin / The Discovery that a Family Member is a Serial Killer

Family was… complicated. Jazz was luckier than most to have any family left, but he and Ricochet weren't exactly close. They never had been, even before winding up on opposite sides of the war. 

Jazz still loved him though. Every now and then he took on the additional risk to look in on him after he finished a job. Ricochet hadn’t caught him so far, but Jazz knew he'd lose the gamble one day. 

Apparently, today was the day. "I was wonderin’ if it was you skulkin' around." Ricochet emerged from the shadows to pace around Jazz's prone form. "Too many times I felt someone gettin' close and couldn't find 'em. Ain't many good enough to do that."

"..jhkssst-… j-jsst chchck!" The electrostatic trap that had disabled him had also disabled his vocalizer. Jazz could hardly get a sound out, let alone actual words. 

"Give it a klik," Ricochet said, crouching down to meet Jazz's fixed gaze. "I'll wait. "

He did, too. Ricochet didn't say anything until the scratches emerging from Jazz's mouth were intelligible enough for him to say, "Fancy m-meetingg you in-n a place like t-thissss."

"Suuuure. You expect me t'believe I'm not th'reason you're here?"

"N-nnot…" the only reason, at least for being on the base. "Jusssst w-wanted t'see youu."

"Hmm. Nope. I don't believe that." Ricochet gave him a sharp, knowing look. "What'd you rig t'blow up this time?"

Jazz did his best to glare back and kept his peace. Twin or no twin, he was not admitting to his activities to a Decepticon. He couldn't even admit them to most Autobots. 

"Or was it somethin' a little more subtle than an explosion? Somethin' like a computer virus, maybe?"

His guesses weren't pointed enough for him to actually know what Jazz had come for this time, but he clearly had an idea what fell within his repertoire. "Ca-ame… t'say hiii." 

"Yeah? And?"

"…hi."

Ricochet barked out a laugh. "Hi yourself. Hope that was worth it, cuz that little hello's gonna cost you."

"Could… let me go," Jazz suggested without any real hope. Of course Ricochet had to turn him in, and it looked like he was enjoying it. "F-for old time's sake?"

Ricochet pretended to think about it, then laughed again. "Nah." 

The world spun as Ricochet hauled him up off the floor and hefted him over his shoulder. Jazz let out an involuntary grunt at the rough handling, but he definitely preferred being carried to being dragged along the floor.

Particularly as, if he was right and Ricochet was taking him to the brig personally, they would be passing by the site of his latest —

“Primus on a pogo stick!” Ricochet jerked to a halt. “What the frag happened here?!”

Jazz could only see the hallway they’d just walked down from his position over Ricochet’s shoulder, but he knew what the body looked like. It was, regrettably, on the messier side, but dead was dead. The Decepticon army was now minus one interrogation specialist, courtesy of —

“You. You did this, didn’t’cha?”

“Did… what? All I can see’s your aft.”

“Ha ha.” Ricochet craned his head back until Jazz could see his face in his peripheral vision. “Knew you were up t’no good, but I didn’t realize you’d gone full serial killer.”

Jazz would have stiffened in affront if he hadn’t already been paralyzed. “I’m not… a serial killer!”

“Crazed murderer then?”

“No!” He was an  _ assassin,  _ which was completely different from being a serial killer.  One was a job, the other was mental sickness.

“Oh really.” Ricochet turned so Jazz could see his own handiwork. The pool of energon under the body had spread some and the splashes on the wall had run, but otherwise it was exactly as he’d left it. “Whaddaya call that then?”

“…bad time for the janitor.”

“…uh huh.” Ricochet sighed. “Wow. Who’d’ve thought I’d have a serial killer for a twin?”

“M’not,” Jazz grumbled as Ricochet set off again. “Looks like I’ve got an idiot for a twin.”

“Says the idiot headed for th’brig.” They didn’t have far left to go, and soon enough Jazz was laying on a bare slab. Ricochet stepped back and stood there, staring at him. 

He stood there for a long time, then turned and brusquely walked away.

“…hi,” Jazz thought he heard him say as the door to the cell blocked closed. 


	5. Day 5: Sunshine / Walking Alone in a Graveyard

The contrast of a cool breeze and warm rays on his plating made for the perfect weather for a walk. Jazz strolled along alone, enjoying a rare moment of quiet under the bright autumn sun. His social batteries didn’t need anywhere near as much time to recharge as Prowl’s, but every now and then even he felt the need to spend some time with just himself.

His choice of venue probably would have raised a few eyebrows, but that was the beauty of coming here on his own: there was no one here to judge.

There was something about autumn sunlight, a special quality that highlighted the beauty and the transience of life. The headstones contributed to the feeling, of course, but the trees at the edges of the graveyard were a vibrant kaleidoscope of reds, oranges and yellows dotted with lingering green, all dancing softly in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but already the ground was littered with leaves whose time was up, tangible, rustling proof of the season marching toward its end.

Another time it might have made him melancholy, but today it was heightening his senses, making Jazz feel more alive. The rows of graves were a reminder to appreciate the things he had while he could, and Jazz gave thanks for both himself and for those in the ground for the experiences they’d been blessed with. Life was a gift, made all the more precious by its impermanence.

Reinvigorated, Jazz headed back, inspired anew to share that gift with all the people he loved.


	6. Day 6: Black Ops / Weird New Neighbors with a Secret

The best way to go unnoticed by your neighbors, Jazz believed, was to make friends with them. Ricochet disagreed, but Ricochet wasn’t the one running this op, so he had grudgingly come along with his twin to say their hellos to the neighborhood.

“Would it kill ya t’smile?” Jazz asked, poking Ricochet in the shoulder. “I wanna make a good impression!”

“Shoulda left me behind then.”

“Nice try.” Jazz went up to the door and knocked, then stepped back and smiled brightly enough for the both of them. “Hi!” he said when the door cracked open. “We just moved in next door! I’m Jazz, this’s Rico.”

“Ricochet,” his twin corrected before adding his own, “Hi.”

“Hello Jazz, Ricochet.” The door opened wider, revealing a Praxan with a black and white paint job. “I’m Prowl. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Thanks! We’re gonna be hostin’ a little get-together this weekend once we got th’house set up. We’d love it if ya came.”

“You an’ anyone y’wanna bring,” Ricochet added. “Friends’n family’re welcome.”

“I’ll ask my cousin if he’s interested,” Prowl said, as Jazz had expected he would. They already knew all their neighbors by name, face, occupation and criminal history. Straightlaced Prowl and his somewhat deviant cousin Smokescreen were the most interesting mechs on the block, apart from the two of them. It was hard to beat undercover black ops for unspoken awesomeness. 

“Great! What about you? Can we count on you too?”

Prowl hesitated. Jazz turned up the charm to eleven. “If I don’t have work,” Prowl hedged, and Jazz let it go at that for now.

“Hope yer schedule’s kind then,” he said, genuinely meaning it. 

Ricochet called him on it as soon as they were on their way again. “You were flirtin’.”

“I was not!”

“So were. Y’know that ain’t a good idea.”

_ “Feelings  _ ain’t a good idea,” Jazz countered. “Flirtin’s fine, and anyway, what of it? He’s handsome!” He gave his twin a Look. “Or is someone jealous?”

“Puh-leeeease.” Ricochet made a rude gesture. “Just don’t want ya forgettin’ what we’re here for.”

“Haven’t so far. Don’t plan to start now.” 

Didn’t change that Prowl was a looker.


	7. Creator’s Choice - Prankster / Waking Up to a Floor Covered in Snakes

Unbecoming as it was for an officer, Jazz was always one for a good prank. It was a bizarre point of pride being one of the prime suspects any time a prank was pulled, especially if he’d actually been responsible for it and no one could prove it.

His most recent success was a series of Halloween-themed pranks: storage closets full of plastic spiders, hallways covered in cotton webs, and a strategically placed container in the rec room with a fake Empty (he’d made the mannequin himself) that would leap up and moan whenever someone walked too close. No one had seen him set any of it up, and he was sure he was in the clear.

Then he woke up the next morning, turned to roll out of bed and put his feet down in a huge pile of snakes. 

“What the frag?!” He jerked his feet back up onto the berth, glaring down at the floor. His entire habsuite was completely covered in the things. The only saving grace was that they appeared to be made of rubber; they’d squished under his feet, but not splattered.

There was audible giggling out in the hall. 

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jazz called to whoever was there. He had a guess based on the laughter, but he wasn’t sure. As soon as he figured out how to get past the snakes though… 

Ohhh, they were going down!


End file.
